


That one time John did an experiment instead of Sherlock

by Itsasparkofgoldandscarletjoy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Eye Sex, John's experimenting though, Kisses, Kisses? Maybe?, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Pre-Slash, Sexual Tension, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-09 16:45:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1990233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsasparkofgoldandscarletjoy/pseuds/Itsasparkofgoldandscarletjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John notices something... different about Sherlock. He decides to experiment to find out what it is exactly that's causing this change in his flatmate's behaviour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What are you doing with your fingers? It's distracting.

**Author's Note:**

> I got a bit inspired by Benedict's hands and mouth and this happened. I'm not sorry x3 John is neither!

This was odd.. something felt different and John couldn't quite put his finger on it. He drifted from Sherlock's closed eyes to his fingers that were lightly pressed together. Those fingers were usually touching at nose height, not at his lips. Sherlock might say all he wanted about John not being observing but he definitely was when it came to Sherlock.

Sherlock's long fingers were moving slightly, another thing that just didn't happen when Sherlock was in his mind palace. They were tracing the full, pink skin of those lips of his and John involuntarily licked his own. He saw Sherlock's eyebrows twitch slightly, as if in deep thought, but not his own kind of deep thought, but the human kind of deep thought. The unfocused deep thought that everyone slipped into every once in a while. His eyes were still hidden by his eyelids but John knew he was seeing something in that brilliant brain of his.

For a few moments John just stared, intrigued by the way Sherlock's fingers moved over his lips. How his lips seemed to move along with it. It was just the tiniest bit of movement, just enough that you couldn't really be sure there was any at all. Until those lips parted. Just a little at first, but a few seconds later enough that just the tips of his fingers disappeared. John's breath hitched, his stomach filled with a hot substance that had absolutely nothing to do with jealousy. Of course it hadn't, that didn't make sense. How could he be jealous of _fingers_?! It took him a moment to realise that Sherlock was staring at him. Oh shit. Uh.. John looked down at his hands, seeing the two cups of tea he clasped rather franticly. "I, uh.." He cleared his throat. "I made tea. You want a cuppa?" Sherlock waved with his hand towards the table, gesturing for John to put it down there before he returned to his mind palace, fingers touching at nose height.  
  
\--  
  
John didn't know what to do. It had happened three times in the last two days. The 'other' mind palace thing, as John referred to it in his head now. It was even worse the last time it happened. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, John opposite of him in his own. He hadn't been talking all day which wasn't anything out of the ordinary, except that it was. Yes, Sherlock sometimes didn't speak for days. But if that was the case, neither did he look at John or acknowledged his company. And this time that was exactly the opposite.

Sherlock had been staring at John for the past twenty minutes, while John was sipping his tea and writing the blog, getting more unnerved every minute. The few times he had dared to look up, Sherlock held his gaze for just a fraction of a second before getting that weird glaze over his vision and retreating to where ever he went in that mind palace of his. 'Other' mind palace, he corrected.

John bit his lip as he continued typing and felt Sherlock's gaze shift back towards him. He really had enough of it! John shut his laptop, probably with more force than he should have, totally intending to shout at Sherlock, but he froze. Sherlock's fingers were tracing his own lips again. For a second it seemed like he hadn't even realised that John was there at all. His fingertips were sitting between those lips now and John swore he saw Sherlock's tongue slid against them. _Oh god_. John swallowed, trying to maintain the control over his own thoughts.

"Is something wrong, John?" Sherlock's voice was incredibly low and John couldn't keep his eyes from fluttering close at the sound of his own name rolling off of Sherlock's lips. Jesus, he was lost. "Um-" he cleared his throat, "Yes. No. I mean, no. Nothing. Ju-" His eyes widened as he saw Sherlock's eyes dropping down towards John's lips. And that's when he noticed that he was mirroring Sherlock. That his own fingers had found their way to his lips and were brushing softly against them. John dropped his hand. "I'm- I'm gonna take shower." It was the first thing that shot through his mind. He immediately regretted it because Sherlock's eyes seemed to be glazing over again. And he _knew_ that Sherlock had just visualised him, naked. Shit. He was really going down.  
  
\--  
  
The water hit his back, burning almost. John tried to clear his head but all that was going through it was an endless mantra of 'Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock!' He couldn't help it. He hadn't had a girl over in about five weeks and, _jesus_ , he needed relieve. His hand found its way south and he really tried to stop picturing Sherlock's tongue but he couldn't. His head fell forward against the cold tiles as his hand started to move.

_God.. god, god, god, jesus!_ He wanted to feel bad about this, he really did, but he couldn't find the strength. All he wanted was relieve and if picturing his flatmate was the way to do it, then so be it. His strokes became furious, uncontrolled and his other arm slammed against the wall for support as he squeezed, urging himself to slow down, because damn, he only just started and he could already feel his stomach curling up in _that_ way and, jesus, what had Sherlock done to him?

His feet arched, forcing him on tiptoes and he bucked his hips forward into - _Sherlock's hand. Another hand supported him at his waist, long fingers digging into skin in the most delicious way. The press of Sherlock's body behind him combined with the hot water was almost too much but it didn't matter. He pushed forward again, aching for Sherlock to move with him. Sherlock's wet lips connected with his skin, just below the pulse point in his neck and John couldn't keep from whimpering as Sherlock's tongue flicked out. God, the warmth, the slide and just the little rough edge to it. His feet arched again, making his hips moving upwards into Sherlock. He felt the press against his backside and the moan that rumbled at the back of his throat came out before he could stop it._

John's control was lost, completely. He moved, his only intention to feel _more_. And with each frantic thrust of his hips he got closer. So close. He squeezed again, mouth falling open. "Sherlock.." he breathed without even actually realizing it. "Oh god, Sherl-" A grunt followed and John came, harder than he had in months.  
  
\--  
  
It took John a good ten minutes to get himself to leave the bathroom after he had finished showering. God, it felt awkward. He didn't want to pull on his clothing again, not after being all relaxed-limbed and heavy. But neither did he like the option of going into the living room naked, except for his robes. Sherlock would obviously deduce what he had been doing and no, he wasn't looking forward to whatever it was that that would cause, thank you very much. After a lot of debating he eventually _still_ chose the robe-option. Cheeks flushed and lips tight, John opened the bathroom door and got out. He made his way over to the stairs leading to his room quickly but not hasty. Or at least he hoped he didn't.   
  
\--  
  
He fell onto his bed just after he had dropped his clothes on the floor unceremoniously. "God.." He really needed to get dressed. But after _that_? The cool air against his skin was quite welcome. "Calm down, John. Everybody probably goes through this phase," he told himself. Crushing on your flatmate. Could it get any better that this? He rolled his eyes sarcastically at his own thoughts. But Sherlock's behaviour.. there was something different about it. The 'other' mind palace still needed some research and John was determined to do exactly that. Research. But where to start? He already knew that it started two days ago. It had happened three times so far and Sherlock's behaviour in those moments was quite distinctive.  
  
What caused it? That was the question that really needed answering.   
  
1) It seemed that Sherlock's lip-touching was involved every time. What did Sherlock say again? Once is an incident, twice is a coincidence and three times is a pattern? Good, that was good.   
2) Looking at John was still debatable, because the first two times Sherlock's eyes had been closed.  
3) The unfocused look in his eyes, that look that had _never_ appeared on Sherlock's face before, that also was a constant factor.  
  
If he let himself draw a conclusion now, which Sherlock would highly disapprove of ('it's dangerous to draw a conclusion, need more data first.'), it looked like Sherlock was thinking about kissing. But that was weird because Sherlock always said his body was just transport and he didn't _need_ that sort of stuff. Or refused to need it, John never had been totally sure about that. But the thought of Sherlock wondering about kissing seemed so foreign. Like it didn't fit with all the data he already had on Sherlock.   
  
John shook his head, and tugged his bathrobe a little closer to his body. He needed a plan. And he knew now where he was going to start.  
  
Hypothesis: Sherlock is thinking about kissing when in the 'other mind palace' (" _however improbable_ ", suddenly shot through John's head. He chuckled.) and I have something to do with that.  



	2. Test One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for phase one of the experiment. Hopefully John manages to keep it all together.

//Test one: Subtly place objects and fingers between or around lips. See if the occurrence of the 'other' mind palace increases.//  
  
\--  
  
John was sitting in his chair, looking at the puzzle page of yesterday's paper with slight interest. The pen was twirling between his fingers and tapping against his lips. "Sherlock? Counter had changed security devise continually. Six, three, five." He knew the answer already but he needed an excuse for Sherlock to look at him and for him to look at Sherlock.  
  
And he didn't disappoint. Sherlock's eyes opened abruptly, focused at first, but, John observed, fluttering towards the pen between John's lips for a fraction of a second. Sherlock seemed almost surprised by what he saw, and therefore John made no movement to remove the pen from its current position. Sherlock didn't respond, which was new for him if it regarded crossword puzzles. "Sherlock?" The other man blinked in response, went as far as shaking his head slightly and then spoke, voice different from usual. "Erm, yes.. Around the clock, obviously. Anagram of counter had, security devise is a lock, obviously. Solution is a continual movement." John smirked. It wasn't like Sherlock to explain right away. He had caught him of guard, 'obviously', his brain provided in Sherlock's voice. His smirk only got bigger. He put the pen on paper, licking his lips. "Thanks, Sherlock," he said while scribbling down the answer. He pretended not to notice the way Sherlock's eyes got a little bigger as they flicked over his lips, if only for Sherlock's sake and pride and sociopath-ness.  
  
\--  
  
Sherlock stared at his lips from the moment John entered the living room next morning. John tried to suppress his smirk. "Something wrong, Sherlock?" Sherlock blinked. "Y-you've just got some.. toothpaste." He gestured between his own mouth and John's. "There's toothpaste on your..-" The taller man frowned. "Oh, thanks! Well, I'm off to the clinic. Try not to blow anything up while I'm away." John even went as far as saluting him, not in the soldier way, but the more casual way some people did.  
  
\--  
  
Sherlock was back in his 'other' mind palace when John entered the flat after work. He had planned his next move not really all that well, but the rough lines where there. He'd make tea, he'd suggest dinner (which involved eating with chopsticks because chopsticks where to most wonderful thing to use to get attention towards lips), and he would make Sherlock eat, even if he didn't want to. The plan wasn't all that hard, John thought to himself while putting on the kettle. "Do you want a cuppa?" he asked cheerfully as he turned around from the kitchen counter towards their chairs. He had to take a double check to see if his eyes weren't deceiving him because Sherlock Holmes was blushing. Sherlock bloody Holmes was blushing. If he hadn't been so shocked he might have took a picture with his phone. Bloody hell, no one would believe him. A half hysterical laughter erupted from John's throat.  
  
"Yes," Sherlock cleared his throat, eyes locked onto John's and John suspected that it was because he didn't want to show his weakness. Hell, maybe he didn't even realise he was blushing in the first place. "Tea would be nice, thank you." Thank you?! Woah, okay. Yes, this was fine. Sherlock being nice was absolutely fine. John turned around again, a bit at a loss of what to say and waited the eternity that it took for the water to reach boiling point. He heard Sherlock shuffling behind him and wondered if he should turn around for the sake of the experiment, though technically he hadn't done anything yet. He settled on looking at Sherlock's reflection in one of the glass panes in the kitchen. He could vaguely see Sherlock's legs shift, his eyes cast on John's back, seemingly unaware of John watching him.  
  
John hadn't really any reason to think it was weird, though it felt like that a bit. Weird. He frowned and continued making tea. When he finally finished and turned around, Sherlock was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs. "Holy shit," John breathed, setting the cups down to insure he wouldn't drop them. "Sherlock.. I didn't even hear you move." Sherlock just sat there, 'other' mind palace still occupied. His fingers were moving again and John couldn't stop himself from wiping his own. He breathed in, noticing the cups of tea and shoved the one with sugar and milk across the table.  
  
"Dinner," John said stupidly when Sherlock didn't show any signs of life. "Take-away okay? Chinese? Thai?" John was nervous for a reason he couldn't figure out. Maybe it was just the unsettling feeling that Sherlock's stare brought along. Anyway, he'd really like if Sherlock actually say something right about now. And as if the curly haired man had heard him, he blinked twice, looked one time pointedly at John's lips (there was really no mistaking it - John swallowed) and spoke. "Chinese is fine. I'm actually quite hungry." A smile. And yes, definitely odd.  
  
John nodded, turned to the phone and excused himself for the twenty minutes it took for the food to arrive. Because Sherlock may not notice his own behaviour but John sure as hell did. And it was unnerving. It made him want to do things he'd regret and he wasn't comfortable with that. But he needed to know. Was Sherlock thinking what John thought he was thinking? The experiment was still on, and John wasn't a man to back away from a plan he had made. Even if it turned out to be harder than expected.  
  
\--  
  
They were eating, passing on cartons, stealing from each other's dishes. Sherlock was laughing over something John had said, John laughed in response. Their chopsticks got tangled inside the carton of noodles and there was a thoughtful silence. Both men looked at the other before Sherlock started smirking and started a chopstick-wrestling game over the noodles. John almost managed to get a bite-full on his sticks but Sherlock stole them again. And before John had really registered what he was doing, he took Sherlock's wrist in his hand and leaned over the table to steal the noodles right from his sticks with his mouth.  
  
He heard the slight intake of breath, saw how Sherlock's pupils drowned out his irises. The sight of Sherlock was absolutely magnificent and selfish as John was in this moment he licked some sauce from the chopsticks before retreating back into his seat. He just stared at Sherlock who was staring at his lips in return. And he knew. He knew exactly how Sherlock felt right now because he felt the same. Tight feeling in his throat, tingling sensation in his stomach, that heat creeping into his cheeks to which there was just no way of stopping.  
  
So John did what every man would do to protect himself from doing something stupid. He stood up. "Do you want something more to drink?" He grabbed his own empty beer can and Sherlock's glass and turned his back to walk towards the kitchen. Because even if he didn't want to admit it, something about this change made him scared. It nagged at him when he didn't manage to just look at it through the eyes of a scientist. When he figured that this, whatever it was, or if it was what he thought it was, could change everything between them. And John wasn't sure if that was what he wanted.  
  
"Water's fine, John. Thank you."  
  
\--  
  
The next morning was quiet. They mumbled a 'good morning' but even though John was supposed to continue his experiment, he did nothing of the sorts. He made coffee. Black, two sugars. Then made his own. He wasn't even surprised when he found Sherlock in his 'other' mind palace, sitting at the kitchen table. The same place where they had been sitting last night. He didn't want to think about it.  
  
\--  
  
"I'm going to bed." John blinked. Did Sherlock really just say that? "You're what?" "I'm going to bed. Isn't that what normal people do?" John blinked some more. "Er.. yes. I suppose." "Are you going to just sit there or what?" John was going crazy, yep. This experiment was fucking with his brain and he was projecting. It had to be.  
  
"You want me to come to bed with you?" he asked a bit ridiculed. "What?" Sherlock grimaced, though there seemed to slip through a bit embarrassment. "No, of course not. People usually wish each other goodnight." "Oh." Of course, stupid. "Yeah.. goodnight, then?" "Good night, John. Sweet dreams." Sherlock was smiling that smile, that smile that was only for him, that smile that no one else ever saw. John wasn't sure if he was already dreaming.  
  
\--  
  
He had to continue his experiment. He just had too. John let his head fall in his hands while he sat down on the edge of his bed. "John Watson, what did you get yourself into.." he mumbled to himself. Tomorrow, he'd finish this test one. Tomorrow.  
  
\--  
  
The smell of eggs hung in the flat when John came down from his room. That was weird. "Mrs. Hudson?" he asked. He was surprised as Sherlock's head poked around the corner. "Morning John!" "Er.. morning. Are you making eggs?" Really weird. "Yep! Want some too?" Sherlock already had two plates placed on the counter and was now shoving the scrambled eggs onto them.  
  
"..thank you." John couldn't keep the grin from his face. He didn't even consider the fact that Sherlock could probably just be drugging him for an experiment. But it wasn't Wednesday, so he was good. "This is new," John stated as he took a bite of the actually quite delicious eggs. "Problem?" Sherlock quipped back. "No, no! Not at all." The corners of John's mouth kept tugging up in amusement. "Just.."  
  
He took another bite, remembering his promise he had made to himself yesterday. He lingered on the fork a bit, mouth curving around it, tongue sliding between two of the tines to get to a bit of egg stuck between. "You don't usually do this sort of stuff." He smiled up at Sherlock, noticing how the air between their eyes seemed to vibrate. Sherlock was breathing a bit ragged, the fork that was going to his mouth paused halfway in its journey.  
  
He seemed to be thinking about something -John was only a bit certain about what- but brushed it away. "I don't. Don't mean I can't." That was all that was said about the matter and they finished their eggs in comfortable silence.  
  
\--

Conclusion:  
  
The other mind palace _has_ happened more times since the experiment began. Test subject always seems to be caught by surprise or forgets what he is doing when Investigator guides his attention towards his lips, which seems to confirm the theory; Investigator is an influencing factor. Time for phase two.

Side note: Sherlock is acting extremely.. human since the experiment started.


	3. Test Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is confused, frustrated and even more confused. That about sums it up. Oh, and he experiments some more, but it doesn't quite work out the way he hoped it would.

//Test two: Make remarks about kissing or lips and see if this in anyway influences Sherlock's reactions or occurrence of the 'other mind palace'.//  
  
\--  
  
"Hey, Sherlock." Sherlock was gazing through his microscope. "You'd never guess what happened today." "I don't have to guess." Even so, he didn't gave the usual show off of deductions. John grinned in victory.  
  
"There was this woman," -he ignored the way Sherlock rolled his eyes- "at the underground who came up to me and just asked out of the blue if she could kiss me." His own eyebrows were raised to his forehead because he could hardly believe it himself. It really had been weird. "Said I reminded her of her late husband."  
  
Sherlock was gazing through his microscope, mouth pressed in a thin line like he'd seen him do so many times before when John brought home a date or mentioned anything in that direction. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the man was jealous.  
  
"So? Why should I care? I don't care. Kiss anyone you want, see if I mind." John's lips curved up because Sherlock obviously did mind. He never repeated himself and now he had done so two times in one sentence. John counted it as victory, though he wasn't quite sure why he was happy about the fact. It shouldn't matter to him.  
  
Yes, he may be wondering from time to time what it would be like to kiss those lips, bite them, suck one of those inside his mouth. But that didn't mean he actually _wanted_ to do that, right? Fantasising and acting on those fantasies were two very different things! Obviously. Yeah.  
  
\--  
  
The telly was blearing, Sherlock was swearing and John was sipping his tea absentmindedly. Perfectly okay night at 221B Baker Street. The people on the telly were having a romantic candlelit dinner and were currently gazing into each other's eyes, waiting for the moment their lips would lock. "Can't you see she's cheating on you, the signs are all there!!" Sherlock bellowed, throwing his hands in the air. John chuckled, because, yes, this time it was fairly obvious. Even for someone not as skilled as Sherlock.  
  
"Why is he kissing her, John?" Sherlock turned on the couch, legs propped up and face all up in John's space. "He knows she's only going to hurt her, so why still do it?" He sounded genuinely confused. John blinked a few times, a bit distracted by the scent of his flatmate and the fact that he was practically hovering over him like a overly interested bat.  
  
"Erm.. because it's fun? Kissing is fun?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and moved back to how he was sitting before. Legs that seemed to go on eternally splayed out in front of him. "No wonder you always have _girlfriends_.." Sherlock said with disdain painting his voice.  
  
"Hey! I don't _always_ have girlfriends!" John wasn't even sure why he was denying it. He just didn't want to give Sherlock the impression.. of what exactly? That he was straight? That he was unavailable? John sighed. Okay, he was hopeless. This experiment wasn't good for his sanity and the longer it went on, the more he wanted those _damn_ perfect lips all over his body, all for himself. _Goddammit_.  
  
"John..?" Sherlock's voice entered his brain and John looked up. "You alright?" John frowned. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" "You were cursing under your breath." Shit. "Hmyeah, fine." John stood up, hand clenching. "You want some more tea?" "Thank you." Sherlock passed him his cup fleetingly though his face was frozen in deduction mode.  
  
\--  
  
The ceiling wasn't dark enough to wipe the images out of his head. Stupid stupid _stupid_ Sherlock with his neglect of social boundaries. His face close up, his scent still present in John's mind, those lips, _perfect_ lips so close. It could have happened. The hollow feeling that felt so horribly wrong and right at the same time clenched its way into John's stomach. "Oh, sod this."  
  
He pushed the covers off of him, hand already sneaking underneath the hem of his pants. If he listened closely, he could imagine hearing Sherlock's bare feet on the floor below. Those feet, those legs. He could write an ode to those long slender legs if he would let himself.  
  
He never would. It were these tiny moments. Where his resolve broke and he let himself feel. Just feel. His hand wrapped around his length and he started stroking, already half hard. A shudder moved through him as he circled the head with his thumb. God, how would that feel with Sherlock's hands. Long fingers, hands big enough to cover almost all of it. "..oh, Sherlock-" It wasn't more than a breath.  
  
He felt himself grew bigger inside his hand, slowly, gradually, almost painfully teasing, but so good. He wondered if Sherlock did this. If he'd get naked under the covers, if his hands would wander or go straight southwards. What he would think about. If he'd think about John. Whether he had memorized every time their skin had touched and used that to produce a fantasy. Whether he had a catalogue in his mind palace of every time John had said Sherlock's name, listened to the ones where he'd been out of breath, panting after running.  
  
It was weirdly liberating to just for once let himself think about these things. No anxious rush of being in the shower for too long, no daylight judging him, just him and his thoughts. He dragged his fingers over the inside of his thigh, teasing himself, imagining Sherlock teasing him like that, dragging every bit of sensation out of him with skilled fingers that were hardly used for anything else than experiments of science and playing the violin. Sherlock would study his every move and for some weird reason, that thought was more exciting than frightening. Sherlock's gaze on him, learning what he liked in mere seconds, applying the newfound knowledge immediately.  
  
A hand cupped around John's balls, and in his lost state of mind, his brain couldn't understand that it was his own hand. "Yes, Sh- Sherlock.." he breathed out. The fantasy had taken over, his body reacting to hands that weren't there, a presence that was just a fragment of his imagination but so real in this moment. Another hand gripped tightly at his hip. The fingers digging into skin and John moaned softly as the feeling shuddered through him.  
  
His head was laying on his pillow, back arched upwards as he moved his hips forwards, into his hand again. He could feel a tongue tracing over his skin, Sherlock's tongue, pointy and deft. The slick heat of his own sweat was enhancing every sensation. The hand moving around his cock twisting just below the head, thumb flicking over it, smearing out the pre-cum.  
  
"Don't.." stop, he finished in his mind. The words had a hard time coming out as his breathing quickened. He picked up the pace a little, hand moving faster, hips bucking up every time. The heath started to centre, every single drop of blood in his body drawing towards his cock and as John bit down on his bottom lip, he couldn't stop himself from coming. A loud moan left his mouth and all he could think with his hormone-drugged mind was 'I hope Sherlock heard that. Serves him right,' before he fell asleep.  
  
\--  
  
John hadn't had a good day. He'd started with waking up with dried semen all over his stomach and sheets. He'd stumbled on Sherlock who demanded an explanation on why John was two days early on his sheet-cleaning-schedule. Then he missed his tube, managed to spill his coffee over himself and ended up twenty minutes late at the surgery. There were two people that day that had vomited across his desk, three that sneezed and managed to get stuff in his coffee mug _on_ the desk and one that just ignored all the social rules on the world by placing an open pot of urine on the desk with such force that some of it spilled over the edge.  
  
Let's just say that every feeling of relaxedness that had been the effect of the wank from the night before, was totally gone by the moment he stepped into the flat again. And that's when he thought things really couldn't be worse. He'd been wrong. So, so, horribly wrong.  
  
What he walked into was Sherlock splayed on the sofa, - _which wasn't really all that weird_ -, with his bathrobe fallen open, - _still.. not that weird, just wait_ -, his pyjama bottoms pushed down, -John blinked two times to be sure-, and his hand moving. Yep, it definitely moved. Oh god. The heath immediately pooled low in John's stomach and he had to push himself to not let out a whine.  
  
Sherlock didn't even seem to notice he was there. He started panting and John was transfixed. He couldn't move a muscle and for a very long moment he was afraid that Sherlock might open his eyes.  
  
Sherlock just continued stroking himself, panting softly, eyes closed but fluttering, as if the control he normally had over his body was faltering. John knew he should leave. He should just turn around, get up into his room and wait till... the storm passed. Yes, that was what he would do.  
  
But when he ordered his legs to move, they didn't. When he ordered his face to turn, it didn't. All his focus was dragged towards the sweating body of his flatmate, his moving hands, his ragged breathing, his face, his lips in that perfect 'o' again.  
  
 _John, get yourself together_ , he ordered himself. And just at the moment where he shook his head and started to turn around, Sherlock let out a moan. And that moan shot straight up into John's bloodstream. Fuck. It took him so off guard, that John let out an involuntary sound of his own.  
  
"Ah, hello John." Sherlock's voice was at least half an octave lower than usual, lazy and drawling with the aftermath of pleasure. God, that was a good sound on him.  
  
It took John a few moments to realise that maybe he should say something. "Hello." His own voice was squeaky and awkward. "I.. er.. I'll just make tea or something." He hurried off towards the kitchen, his eyes averted, absolutely not noticing the shiny white streaks of liquid painting Sherlock's stomach.  
  
"Jesus.." John muttered to himself, leaning with both his hands against the counter. What the hell? Before this week he hasn't even suspected Sherlock to be into something as innocent as kissing and now he got this? The man was pure pornography. Hell, he was _better_ than that. If there was any doubt left that John wanted his flatmate at this point, all of it was washed away now. Definitely.  
  
"Tea.. yes. I was supposed to make tea." He shook himself free of his thoughts and flicked the kettle on. After two minutes of waiting and listening to weird sounds, he realised that he had forgotten to put water in it. After about twice the time it usually took, John re-entered the living room, a bit cautious. Sherlock -thank god- was back in his proper cloths.  
  
But of course, John Watson couldn't catch a break. Because the next thing he noticed was that Sherlock was in his 'other' mind palace. Which meant that he was thinking about.. earlier, probably. John felt the heath rise to his cheeks and clutched the mugs tighter.  
  
He sat down in his chair after placing Sherlock's mug on the table. They kept quiet for a very long time, Sherlock thinking, John thinking.  
  
They didn't talk about any of it.  
  
\--  
  
Conclusion:  
  
Too many uncontrolled/inconsistent variables to get a valuable conclusion. Test subject shows signs of interest. Investigator might be a little too emotionally involved in the outcome of the experiment to draw legitimate conclusions. Be cautious with test three.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thank you for all the subscriptions and kudo's and bookmarks and stuff :3 It really makes me happy to see that people actually want to read my stuff! I'll try to update occasionally, but I'm really bad at keeping myself on a writing schedule. So I'm not making promises as to when you can expect the new chapter! I'll just say: There are two more chapters to come and then it's finished! I hope you enjoyed it this far and I hope you will enjoy the stuff to come!
> 
> La'erz! *wink*


	4. Test Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With fresh courage, John continues his experiment. Until Sherlock comes in and turns everything upside down and inside out.

//Test three: If all other tests fail to get absolute data, ask him about it.//  
  
\--  
  
The next morning, John got up, determined to _not_ think about things he shouldn't think about. He would get back to the experiment unbiased, uninfluenced and generally uninterested in the outcome. Yep. He could do that.  
  
When he entered the kitchen and saw Sherlock's lips resting so incredibly kissable against the edge of his own index finger, he totally couldn't. Nope. Not in the slightest way. God dammit.  
  
"Ah, John. You're up!" Sherlock looked up from where he was sitting at the kitchen table. His skin was showing where the three top buttons of his shirt were undone. John gulped. "I needed you for something!" Sherlock's enthusiasm this early in the morning was slightly worrying and John knew better than to open his mouth.  
  
"Here! Hold this." It took John a moment to realise Sherlock had gotten up from his seat, dropped a yet to be determined item in his hands and was now rummaging through the fridge, all in less than five seconds. It was a relieve though that he didn't ask something unorthodox of him. John looked down at the item in his arms and figured it to be some kind of weird looking devise. That would do.  
  
"Sherlock, what are we doing exactly?" "Not now, John." Sherlock's voice was muffled by the fridge that surrounded his head. John wondered if he could just place the thing back on the kitchen table. But just as he contemplated the consequences, Sherlock turned back to him, carrying two Petri dishes covered with fuzzy green and white things. "Sherlock! I told you," and for a second everything was back to normal. "No moulds in the fridge!"  
  
Sherlock looked at him, all innocent from underneath his eyelashes, and god jesus, he had the nerve to lick his lips. "Fuck.. okay. What do you need me for?" The mischievous smile told him that Sherlock bloody knew what he was doing to John. And no, that wasn't a good thing. Manipulative bastard.  
  
"I told you. Just hold that, I'll do the rest." He set to work, and John found himself looking at Sherlock's hands rather than paying attention to _what_ they were doing. "John. I need the red tube that's sticking out of the left side of the thing I just gave you." "Are you going to tell me what it is, or what it's doing?" John asked, as he found the thing. Sherlock looked up at him, face unreadable. "Are _you_ going to tell me what _you_ are doing?"  
  
John frowned. "What? I'm helping you- You asked me t-" "I'm not talking about this experiment, John." Sherlock's voice was low and serious and it slid down John's body in a wave of heat that shouldn't be legal. Sherlock continued, "I'm talking about you. And your fascination with my lips." Fuck. This was not part of the plan.  
  
"I know you are doing an experiment, John. A fairly lousy one, I should add." His face was still not readable and that only made matters worse. Deny it, that was his only option. "I have no idea what you're talking about." "Oh come on, John. You've never been a good liar." Sadly, that was true.  
  
"Pass me the red tube." John blinked. Wait, what? Did he imagine that conversation, or.. He cleared his throat and tried not to look at Sherlock's hands or lips or just at Sherlock in general. Mould had never been so interesting as it was now.  
  
\--  
  
"What is this?" John waved the sheet of paper around as he entered the living room. "It's an instruction form that explains how to set up proper experiments. I thought you might need it." "Yes, I can read, Sherlock. What was it doing in my room?" Sherlock looked up at him, lips slightly parted. John denied his eyes the pleasure of looking down. "I thought it would be convenient."  
  
John huffed in annoyance, both because of Sherlock, and his own disability to breath properly. "Sherlock, how many times do I have to tell you to keep out of my room. One rule. That's all. I need a _little_ privacy. I don't care that you don't care about personal space but I do, okay. It's enough to have you breaking and entering the bathroom twice a week. I need those ten square metres of space." He glared at Sherlock.  
  
He knew he was acting ridiculous. Out of frustration, he brushed a hand through his hair. "You know what, forget about it." John stumbled into the kitchen, ignoring Sherlock's confused expression.  
  
Why? Why did Sherlock want him to follow through with the experiment if he already knew what it was about? It didn't make sense! Any of it! He needed a shower. And some food in his system. That would calm him down. John grabbed some bread, covered it with butter and jam, not even bothering to toast it first. He grabbed the cup with steaming coffee and gulped. Then stopped, abruptly. With a frown he looked down at his Northumberland cup.  
  
"..Sherlock?" Silence. "Have you made me coffee?" "I heard you waking up ten minutes ago. Knew you'd want some." That was.. weirdly unexpected. "Can I be certain you haven't drugged it?" He heard Sherlock smirk in the other room. "You never can, John. But no, I haven't."  
  
John sniffed his cup. It didn't smell weird. Though things never did if people didn't want them to.. He decided to just drink it. If Sherlock had been lying, John at least would have a reason to shout at him.  
  
\--  
  
John lay back on his bed, bathrobe loosely hanging around him. The instruction form lay next to him, silently begging for attention. At last, John's resolve broke and he grabbed the sheet of paper. _Experiments for Dummies_. "Very funny, Sherlock," John laughed without humour.  
  
The page was printed, with some exceptions where Sherlock's handwriting decorated the page. It was a nice handwriting. It showed the sinuous lines of his hands, the smooth precision with which they moved. With which they could move. The lines of his words were curvy, nothing like John's own illegible doctor's scribble. John could imagine Sherlock tracing letters over his chest and stomach. The long curve of a _J_ , the soft press of an _o_ , the more static lines of an _h_ , but still with precision and care, the final smooth, almost tickling arch of the _n_.  
  
He let out a soft breath, surprised that just the thought of Sherlock's hands could make him feel so.. flustered. His body was burning on a low pit, just enough to notice, but too much to push away easily, John wasn't stupid, he knew his own body.  
  
Slowly, he let his eyes close and breathed in. Just think of something else. Anything. Mrs. Hudson in a bathing suit if that was what it would take. When that didn't work, he turned to Anderson in a bathing suit. Oh god. Yep. Definitely working. John winced a bit and rolled over on his side. It was only now that he noticed the piece of yellowed paper on his nightstand.  
  
John frowned and reached to pick it up. It was an old photograph of himself, from before the army days. He remembered the picture being taken by his uncle at a birthday party. To his own confusion, he didn't remember the girl that shyly kissed him on the cheek in the black and white picture. What was the thing doing on his nightstand anyway? He looked at the door, wondering what Sherlock had been up to while he had been in his room.  
  
\--  
  
Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. There was a post-it on the mirror above the fireplace saying ' _I'm out. There's milk in the fridge and if you want to make yourself useful, please check the temperature of the pot that's in the kitchen once every two hours. It should be around sixty degrees. Don't look inside._  
p.s. Sorry for invading your room like that yesterday.'  
  
If John hadn't known Sherlock's handwriting inside out, he wouldn't have believed the man wrote it himself. He turned the note over inside his hand and saw a smiley scribbled on the backside. "Idiot," he heard himself mutter as his heart did something he really didn't want it to do.  
  
Stupid Sherlock with his perfect behaviour and his apologising and getting milk. John groaned. Sherlock was just frankly being the most wonderful being on earth the last couple of days and John had no idea why he was so annoyed by that fact.  
  
He checked the fridge for milk and it was standing there, a little note on it saying "you didn't believe me and checked, didn't you?" Another pang in his heart and John hid his face as he leaned against the counter. Where had Sherlock gone. Had there been a case? Usually Lestrade would text John about things, knowing that was the safer option. Could be just a client, but he hadn't heard the doorbell at all. Besides, Sherlock had left two times because he went shopping. What was this about?  
  
Absentmindedly, John checked the temperature of the pot on the stove. Something was off... he couldn't pinpoint what but Sherlock was up to something and this time John was the one who didn't like not knowing. All he could do was wait, though. And check the temperature every two hours. Which meant Sherlock would be gone for at least six hours. If not longer.  
  
\--  
  
Why was his absence even more annoying then his presence? If Sherlock was there, John could actively ignore him. Now he was constantly thinking about his flatmate and his possible whereabouts. If his mind didn't wander off to other... parts of the detective.  
  
John sighted and just as he checked the temperature on the stove for the fourth time and contemplated lifting off the lid to have _something_ to do, he heard the door open downstairs. "Took you long enough!" He yelled down.  
  
"Don't whine, John," came the muffled reply from the hallway. He heard Sherlock breathing a bit heavier than usual as he came rushing up the stairs. His friends cheeks were pink from the air outside and John refrained from licking his lips. "I checked the temperature." Sherlock's eyes smiled and John really had to stop noticing these things.  
  
"You found the milk?" Sherlock asked as he turned and took his coat off. "I did, yeah." John chuckled a bit. "What's gotten into you?" Not exactly the question he wanted to ask but it would do. The test was still in the back of his mind, even though Sherlock had practically stomped it into the ground.  
  
"I did the shopping. Thought you would appreciate it." As if it's all perfectly not out of the usual, Sherlock sat down at the kitchen table, looking at him expectantly. "So. About that experiment of yours. I have some questions." His voice was deep and John blinked before he realised what Sherlock was saying.  
  
"Erm. Okay." He sat down at the other chair, only now noticing the table was cleaned from all experiments. It's a feeble distraction but Sherlock's eyes on him were intense and could only be ignored for so long.  
  
"You have been deciding your plan throughout the experiment, correct?" "Correct," John answered. He had started with test one. After that he'd come up with test two.  
  
"You anticipated you would be less involved in the experiment, correct." John swallowed. Sherlock's eyes saw right through him and he should have known. "Correct." He could swear he saw the corners of Sherlock's lips curve up.  
  
"You misjudged the direction this experiment was going, correct?" Sherlock's voice seemed lower. His eyes were darker and he looked at him as if every response John gave was being filed away somewhere behind that forehead. "Correct."  
  
"You aren't planning on following my form to come up with a new experiment, correct?" He had not quite thought about it yet. He guessed he didn't see the point if Sherlock knew already. So he shrugged. "Yeah, I guess not."  
  
"Good," was all Sherlock said before standing up. "I made us dinner, by the way."  
  
\--  
  
Conclusion:

Test failed immensely. Roles of Test subject and Investigator got mixed up. Don't ever bother with trying to experiment again.


End file.
